The Changing Wind Read Free Page A

encounter a similar band of travelers moving across the prairie, carrying their lodgecovers and baggage or dragging it on poledrags behind the dogs. There was a time-honored ritual for such a meeting. The two columns of travelers would halt, perhaps a long bowshot apart, and wait while two or three chiefs from each band approached one another in the no-man’s-land between.
    It was understood that there would be no fighting. It was too dangerous. Both groups were vulnerable, with womenand children and all possessions exposed to the enemy. So the principal chiefs of the two groups would make small talk, using the universal handsigns of the prairie. They would discuss the weather, the quality of the summer’s grass, and the success of the hunt. Sometimes there would be veiled threats and insults, but it was only talk. No chief would risk his family’s safety by initiating a skirmish.
    Even knowing this, the heart of Small Elk always beat fast when such a meeting occurred. He watched the confrontation from his mother’s side, seeing the prominently displayed stone war clubs that were the trademark of the Head Splitters. Even at a distance, the suggestiveness of these weapons was a chilling thing.
    “What do they talk about?” he whispered to his mother.
    Dove Woman placed a hand on his shoulder reassuringly.
    “Small things. The weather, the hunting, where we will camp this season.”
    Small Elk was alarmed.
    “Broken Horn will tell them where to find us?”
    Dove Woman smiled.
    “Yes, and they will tell us. You see, if they mean us harm, they can find us anyway. And hunting will be better if we are not too close together. So, the chiefs exchange that knowledge.”
    The conversation was finished now, and the chiefs parted. The two columns resumed travel. It was a relief to have the meeting over. Looking back later, it had been an exciting diversion on the long trip to meet the other bands of the tribe for the annual Big Council.
    A raid by the Head Splitters was a different matter. It would be carried out by a surprise attack, a ruthless strike by a force of strong, heavily armed warriors. They would quickly kill and plunder, taking supplies and robes, perhaps weapons, anything easy to carry.
    And children. The threat of abduction by the Head Splitters was not an idle one.
    “But what happens to the children?” Small Elk asked in wonder as he and his playmates discussed the situation.
    “Maybe the Head Splitters
eat
them,” Bull Roarer suggested with a horrible grimace.
    “No, that’s not true!” scolded Crow. “They just keep them forever. Besides, they want mostly girls.”
    “We will ask someone,” suggested Small Elk. “There is Short Bow.”
    The children approached the subchief, who was reclining on his backrest nearby.
    “Uncle,” began Bull Roarer, using the customary term of respect for any adult male, “could you tell us of the Head Splitters?”
    Short Bow puffed his pipe a moment.
    “What of the Head Splitters?”
    “Why do they steal children?”
    “Don’t they want mostly girls?” asked Crow.
    Short Bow nodded seriously.
    “Yes, that is true. Our women are prettier than theirs. They want them for wives.”
    “Aiee!”
exclaimed Crow. “To be the wife of a Head Splitter!”
    “You are safe,” teased Bull Roarer. “They want only the pretty ones.”
    Crow made an obscene gesture, and the boys laughed. The girl had not yet started the spurt of adolescent growth that would make her long-legged and shapely like other women of the People. It had been known for generations that Head Splitters coveted these girls as wives. Their own racial stock was slightly different in bone structure, and the lanky athletic build of the women of the People was greatly admired.
    On the day that the Head Splitters came, the three friends had been playing along the stream. It was a warm, sunny afternoon in the Moon of Growing. The children had been watching minnows and trying to catch the small spotted frogs